It's Only Time
by gummycola
Summary: Francis learns some valuable lessons, he guesses. Matthew fractures his orbital rim. Alfred loses all respect for Kiku. Arthur cries, a lot. Alfred and Arthur are getting married. (Also posted on ao3. Rating is for language.) USUK UKUS
1. Chapter 1

Arthur had cried last night when he'd been framing photos for the guestbook table, simply because Alfred had been cute as a child. He'd cried the evening prior to that because Alfred had made a vaguely romantic, yet totally inane comment about the centerpieces ( _Huh, the marbles match our eye colors, right?_ ). He was going to cry later this afternoon when he pressed their suits. He refused to even think about tomorrow.

Tomorrow when they'd see each other next. When next he laid eyes on Alfred, they would be at the altar.

For now, he was laying eyes on a half-dressed, drowsy fiancé with his hands inside of the Lucky Charms box, brows furrowed playfully.  
"Artie, but like, are you sure sure you're okay with this? It's like—" He paused to drop the cereal pieces, hunting for marshmallows, "—archaic, right? Totally old school."

He munched quietly, wearing a serious expression.

It was not-quite nine in the morning, and Arthur was dressed and ready for the day. Matthew would be here any minute to fetch Alfred, whisking him away for a day of movies and video games and the other forms of childish entertainment that the Williams-Jones boys considered to be a wild good time.  
Arthur would be writing checks and checking lists. Francis was scheduled "around noon" to cut his hair and commandeer the kitchen for baking. He had an appointment at two for his eyebrows—he and Francis had agreed a professional was best suited to handle that traumatic situation.

There was plenty more to do, he told himself, lots to do, surely, because the wedding was tomorrow, and it couldn't all be done, could it? The catering was settled, rehearsal had gone surprisingly smoothly, the photographer was paid and seemed quite genuinely excited. The rings were securely packed away, their bags upright and stocked with everything they could possibly need. They'd have to do the décor tomorrow morning no matter what, as someone else had the venue today. It was all prepared in cardboard boxes, stacked neatly in the back of Ludwig's SUV and Gilbert's van. It was even labelled. Alfred had helped him make a printed diagram.

The doorbell rang, then rang again, then rang a third, drawn out time as Alfred bolted to the bedroom to hide. Arthur sighed and opened the door for Matthew. He was surprised to see Kiku as well, looking out-of-place in his wrinkled t-shirt and sweatpants. Matthew was wearing a very Alfred-esque grin.

"He's hiding, isn't he? I told you he would, Kiku."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "He's gone in the bedroom. There's a pin to unlock it. I'll fetch it."

He made his way to the back of the house, banging loudly on the bedroom door as he passed it, hoping to startle Alfred. It was all in good fun, sure, this mock kidnapping thing, and Alfred would surely make an enormous scene. Yet, there was some truth to his reluctance. He'd tried to talk Arthur into refusing to give him up, but Arthur had only needed to gently remind him of his brother's recent moodiness to get him to drop that talk. Matthew had been clingy lately. He'd also been…well, sad.

Alfred needed to give him one more day.

He returned to offer Matthew the pin and found that he and Kiku were shoulder to shoulder, peeking inside of a black sack they'd brought with them. They were muttering something Arthur couldn't understand, and seeming to come to an agreement, they turned back to Arthur, all smiles. Uh oh. Did Alfred have good cause to be worried?

Matthew snatched the pin from his hand and strode to the hall. He was enjoying this far too much. Kiku blocked the hallway in the other direction, and Matthew quickly unlocked the door.

A rather womanly shriek was heard almost immediately, and Matthew pounced inside. There was a lot of shuffling and giggling, a grunt, and Arthur gently reminded Matthew that he needed them both in one piece and bruise-free tomorrow afternoon, please and thank you.

He was answered with a frantic "Get the rope, Kiku—the rope!" and gawked when Kiku ran to the sack to grab a bundle of white rope. He also seemed to be enjoying this far too much. Scratch that. Arthur had known Kiku many years. He was most certainly enjoying this far too much.

Arthur checked the time and cracked open his journal, ignoring the sounds of struggle as he went through the day's itinerary. He looked for easy tasks, things he could do in the here and now, but they were all scratched out. He noted the reminder to breathe that he'd added a few days ago, and settled on making a second cup of tea. He was all nerves, and he had an entire day to get through. An entire day sans Alfred, though he didn't know if that would be better or worse.

The object of his thoughts—and undying affections, of course, was hauled out minutes later, rather pathetically "tied up" with most of the rope dangling loose across his broad shoulders. They'd apparently subdued him with a Nerf gun at one point, as two of the plastic darts were still stuck to his legs.

Matthew was snorting with laughter as he took his hostage away, though he let Alfred pause in the kitchen to nuzzle Arthur goodbye. He was being a good sport about this, Arthur had to admit. He was rather proud of him.

Kiku stopped to wish him good day, assuring him he would keep them both safe and sound. The door opened, the door closed, and they were gone. Arthur was, for the time being, alone.

He finished his tea. He decided to press the suits. He cried.

Please let me know if you're reading this by leaving a review, I haven't used FF in years, so I'll update it here if you're reading it, or I'll just update it on ao3 if no one is reading it here. Thanks!


	2. Chapter 2

Francis woke up cranky, which wasn't like him. He also woke up late, which was exactly like him.

He couldn't find the good hair dryer—the one that hadn't made a very real, and very frightening ball of fire once years ago—and really, why had he kept the fire-breathing hair dryer? It was impractical to own more than one hair dryer, even he knew, so long as one had a good hair dryer with plenty of attachments.

He couldn't find the good one, though, so he'd had to go and buy another one, and the cashier at Sally's had a poor attitude, and the barista at Starbucks got his order wrong. He burned his tongue on his wrong order and dropped the egg out of his breakfast sandwich into the seat of his brand-new car.

He would not despair, however. He would find the good in this day if it killed him. He would make this day be good. He was going to bake a cake that would bring Gaston Lenôtre back from the dead. He was going to bake a cake that Dionysus would label too-decadent. Never mind the idiots he was baking it for, who had demanded it be blue— _blue_ —and who had insisted that he use a gaudy, kitschy little cake topper that Alfred had ordered off etsy. This cake was going to be a legend.

He made it to the house around one and tried very hard not to start to panic. Legendary cakes took time, and Francis really needed to get at least some sleep before tomorrow. He was the best man, sure, but babysitter would be a more appropriate title. He had seen Arthur deal with a variety of stressors over their many years of friendship, and rarely had he seen Arthur deal with them very well. He'd once backed over Francis's foot with his car because he'd been so stressed about buying Alfred a birthday present. When he'd come to the Frenchman for advice on his proposal, his shirt had been on backwards.

Francis wondered if he'd rather be responsible for the other half of this troublesome pair. As if on cue, his phone lit up with a text from _~Matthieu~_ , a message with a photo attached. It was a pink-faced Alfred wearing a plastic fire hat with "groom to be" written and crossed out and "STUD" scrawled beneath. He was trying to hold up an enormous party sub. _Quoi!_

Francis responded to Matthew's written message, a one-word question: "Jealous?" with a series of unamused emojis. He popped the trunk of his car and began unpacking.

The house was quiet as he let himself in, though only for a moment. Arthur came stomping from the back of the house in full-blown panic, slapping his slippered feet on the hardwood floor rather dramatically.

"It. Is. One _twenty_ \- fucking- five. My appointment is in _thirty-five minutes_ , and that's _without_ being considerate enough to get there five to ten minutes early, as the salon so politely requested, and considering the _monumental_ task we are burdening this stylist with, how could we treat her with such disrespect?" He paused to cross his arms and huff expectantly, eyes drifting to the overstuffed bags Francis was attempting to pull into the kitchen. A wayward pan clattered to the floor pathetically. It felt rather poetic.

Francis indulged himself with a dramatic exhalation, sending a golden lock of hair skyward before it fell awkwardly back into this face.

He regarded Arthur for a moment before speaking. His friend was quite disheveled, looking both overdressed and sloppy in his button up and sweater vest combo plus bunny slippers. His hair was a mess and his eyes were puffy. He'd obviously been crying.

Francis couldn't help himself, as usual. This troublesome pair of lovers always pulled at his heartstrings. So helpless. So cute. So in love. Ah, and they were getting—

"Married! You're getting…ah!"

Suddenly, Francis felt light as air. His boys, his darling little idiots were to be wed, this was the most important wedding of his life (so far), this was a tremendous victory, this was the day before the wedding! Burnt tongues and grumpy Brits were just a part of the charm of it all, delightful in their own unpleasant ways. He pulled Arthur into a hug, ignoring his annoyed grunt and totally rigid posture.

" _Oui, oui,_ it is too much to handle. Here you are alone all day while your dear Alfred is away having fun! You should have let Gil and Toni throw you that party, _non_?"

Arthur ignored his teasing. They both knew it was for the best that Arthur stay far away from those two before his big day, lest he suffer some bizarre injury or…end up in another country. Besides, Gil and Toni were both part of the (rather enormous) wedding party, and the _party_ party, the reception, was bound to be more than enough depravity for one weekend.

"We need to review the itinerary. I'll have to drive myself to my appointment so you can get started on the cake—you'll need to let me know when you can pause that to get my hair done. My—my brothers have sprung a surprise dinner on me tonight, so I suppose I'll have to…" He trailed off, sniffling a bit.

Francis patted his arm sympathetically. "Oh _cher_ , you hate them."

Arthur chuckled, though he still pulled his arm back to avoid the incessant petting. "It isn't that. Well, it is that, but I just wish Alfred were going with me. It's always much easier to deal with them when he's there. They end up teasing him endlessly and leave me be."

Ah, to be so repressed that you can't just openly admit you miss the man with whom you'll spend the rest of your life!

"We can do a rescue mission, if you want." Francis' eyes gleamed dangerously.

To his surprise, Arthur actually seemed to consider it. Ultimately, he shook his head, gesturing toward Francis' supplies.

"There's no time. I'm going to head for my appointment. I trust you have…everything you need there? Is there anything I should get?" He paused. "You haven't conveniently misplaced the cake topper, have you?"

Francis grimaced. "Your cheap little bauble is safe and sound. How I will incorporate such a thing into my masterpiece has yet to be seen, but fret not."

Arthur nodded. He hovered momentarily before attempting to help Francis haul in the last of his goods. The kitchen in the Kirkland-Jones' house was an enviable construction, all gleaming gadgetry and ample counter space. It was Alfred's happy place, largely of his own invention, and had come about when he'd knocked the wall down between a tiny and outdated kitchen and an oversized laundry room. Francis adored it.

As he was making himself at home, Arthur still hovered about, sheepishly standing in the doorway. As Francis looked up, he grumbled something.

"You know, Francis, we ah, really appreciate it. Thank you."

He scampered off.

Francis smiled to himself, setting up shop with a bounce in his step.

He opened a cabinet, still humming happily, and a pot dropped out onto his foot. The foot Arthur had driven over a few years ago.

Francis sat down, breathed deeply, and cried.


End file.
